


Kisses for Coin

by why_the_nightingale_sings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Whore!Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/why_the_nightingale_sings/pseuds/why_the_nightingale_sings
Summary: He may be a knight now, but you had warmed Bronn's bed when he was only a sellsword and you would be damned if you gave him up now.





	Kisses for Coin

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd love a sassy sellsword as much as I do. But here I am.

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater."

He laughed his gravelly laugh and turned to look down at you, his brows lifting, "Do you like it?"

You stretched carelessly, shrugging, "A proper name for a proper knight."

"I earned my name, you little minx," he grinned, downing the rest of his wine and casting his cup aside to kneel overtop of you, his blue eyes burning bright as he pressed his hot kisses up your chest to your neck, playfully biting at your ear as you giggled under him. 

"Did you?" you laughed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him close. 

"Aye," he growled, "I served my part in the battle and I have been rewarded for it."

"If only all who served their part could be to generously rewarded," you said, twisting so he was beneath you and you securely straddled his hips. His brows lifted and you shrugged one shoulder in an obvious display of demurral. 

"What reward do you want, pretty thing?" Bronn's fingers trailed down your waist, drinking in your naked flesh as you leaned over him. 

"I want all of King's Landing to hear that I'm being fucked by Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," you growled, your voice low in your throat and twice as sexy. His hands tightened on your hips and his growl was twice as deep and twice as sexy. You had known him before he was Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. He had spent many coins on your love and the pleasure of your company and maybe he could afford more now that he was a knight proper. Not that it mattered how much he paid you, you would accept his arms and his very fervent love even without coin. Bronn had grown on you. The first time he had come to you, he had been a sellsword, new to the employ of the acting Hand, Tyrion of House Lannister. You had thought he was just another one of the Lannister guardsmen. But then he had taken you by the hand, his coin had already changed hands but you forgot that he had paid for you, his kisses and his hands had made you forget in a way that you could never fake with the other men who paid for your bed. 

Bronn the sellsword had known how to wield his most deadly blade, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater was no different. You thought idly that you might be able to ask more money of the knight Ser Bronn. But it wasn't his money that you wanted. You wanted him. Which was what made his next words so much more painful. 

"King's Landing may know that you had Bronn the Sellsword," he said, looking up at you with his beautiful eyes, "But Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is to have a wife."

You scoffed, but he took your face in his hands, his fingers threading through your hair. 

"I am engaged to Lollys Stokeworth," he said seriously, "And with her comes a castle and more gold than this could ever give me."

"Aye," you admitted, running your hands down his well muscled chest, "But who could make you feel more special than me? Lady Stokeworth? She'll shriek in pain at her first time and you'll have a cold bed until she heals; a cold bed while she recovers from having children. Bronn," you took his rugged face in your hands, "You know as well as I that you cannot have an empty bed for long. Let me fill it."

"And me a married man?" He tried to protest but you knew him better.

"Many a married man has taken a mistress," you said, sliding your way down his body to undo the laces of his breeches and take him into your mouth.

"So they have," he said with a groan, his calloused fingers tangling in your hair as you languished your oral pleasure in his cock. You licked a stripe up his shaft and glanced at him from under your lashes. 

"Don't you want me, Ser Bronn?" you asked in your throaty voice and you saw the whites of his eyes for a moment as his eyes rolled back. 

"Oh, Seven Hells, I want you," he breathed and you toyed with his cock a moment more before you drew away and pretended to leave - as thought you would ever leave his company willingly. 

His calloused fingers caught your arm in a hard grip that made you gasp in delight. Bronn the honorless sellsword dragged you back to bed, the way he had in the times he had taken you before the Battle of the Blackwater.

"Do you?" you cooed, allowing him to brush the hair from your eyes as you looked up at him. 

"Gods forgive me but I do," he hissed between clenched teeth as he shifted and pinned you under him - a whore beneath a sellsword. Not an uncommon coupling, but one that you would never relinquish so long as you drew breath. The sellsword may be a knight by the grace of the King, but he had been taking solace in your arms long before the knighting and very long before the announcement of his betrothal to Lollys Stokeworth. You would never relinquish him. Not while he still loved you. 

And that was what it was that made you different than the other women he paid to keep his bed; you had allowed yourself to love him. A terrible decision and you knew that Chataya would scold you for it; but you had heard her say that the best whores in the kingdoms were so well known and so well loved because they allowed themselves to love their patrons. And you loved him. You loved Bronn. Bronn who had been only a sellsword when first you met and Bronn who was now a knight and leaving you behind. Well and good, you at least would be sure that he did not forget you. 

You gasped his name as he pinned you to the pleasure-bed in your chambers, his mouth hot on your neck as you drew him closer - not close enough - his lean, fighter's limbs not close enough. He enjoyed having more than one woman in the room, but it was only because he liked being watched, he liked the fact that someone else could watch and serve as witness. So when he entered you, you heard your moan of delight echoed in Aline who was watching this time, Aline who was barely out of her childhood and who was innocent and desperate enough to touch herself as you moaned. 

He pinned you down and reached for the silk ties that hung from the posts of your bed. You had made sure they were in his favourite colour and you had known he would use them but the gasp that left your lips as he tightened the silk around your wrists was genuine, as was the wetness between your legs. Your wrists were bound to the posts as he liked and you pretended you were desperate for your freedom, pleading to him in every language that you knew to let you go. It was an act he knew well, almost as well as he knew he wetness between your legs would grow the longer he tortured you with pleasure. 

He may have entered you and spent himself harshly at first, roughly, painting your stomach and cunt with his seed, but you knew Bronn and you knew that he was far from finished. You might even say that you knew Bronn more than the lord Imp did. But the point was that when his seed painted your body, when the ties tightened around your wrists and you were left stranded and open for his pleasure, when you were wetter than you had been for any other patron, you had been his. And he knew it. He was Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and you were his whore. The woman who warmed his bed. It wasn't such a terrible bargain for you. What hurt your heart was knowing that he could never be yours as much as you were his. But when he entered your chambers and shed his clothing, sliding himself inside you faster than a wildling could nock their arrow, all you could remember was his name, the feel of his arms around you, and the way his warm shaft felt so perfect inside the velvety slickness of your lower lips. 

He groaned your name and your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you, a desperate longing clear in the way his hips moved in and out of you, his shaft keeping you almost as obediently still as a royal decree. But when you felt him come inside you, you fought against the silken ties, fought against not being able to touch him, to hold him, to let your nails mark the fact that he was yours. 

"Bronn," you gasped, your legs wrapped around him as you looked up at him, "Don't forget me. No matter how many castles Lollys promises you," he chuckled at that and your legs tightened, keeping him intimately close to you. 

"I won't," he said, pressing his lips to your brow, "After all, I learned from the best. And a Lannister always pays his debts."


End file.
